Come on
by heathethanoshkosh
Summary: My impression of what kat must have been thinking during that scene at Club Skunk.


Come on (To my embrace)  
  
I love this place. I haven't stopped dancing since I got here, I'm sweating like crazy and I love it. The air around me is thick with sweat and heat, and I twist and move my body through and around it in time with the music that crashes through the air. It washes over me, cleanses my mind. I feel it go through me and I sing along, allowing it to take me for the ride. I see Mandella next to me and she is as elated at I am. My hair is sticking to my back. I don't care. I feel so free, I don't have to live up to any stereotypes here, and I can just exist. There are no false, plastic people, no bogus smiles. Everything is real. I laugh and scream if I want, shake my ass a little if I want. My throat is dry; too dry for me to ignore. "I need agua!" I scream to Mandella and she tells me to get her one as well. I head off the dance floor, dancing a little as I make my way over to the bar. I've reached the bar and the bartender walks up to me.  
  
"Two waters!" I yell, over the music. I glance around taking everything in. He's here?! Invading my personal space! How dare he! Stupid stalker guy! He's perched comfortably on top of a bar stool, in these blue leather pants that fit him perfectly, unflappably nursing what I guess is a root beer. He looks good, and different for some strange reason but I don't care. I want him to go away! He glances at me casually, catches me staring and looks away. Shit. The bartender gives me my water and I fish money out of my knee-high hooker boots and hand it to him and stalk over to Patrick. He looks at me blankly, and I glare right back. "If your planning on asking me out again, you might as well get it over with." I tell him plainly. No sense beating around the bush. I want to make it perfectly clear that I'm not interested so he can leave.  
  
"Do you mind? Your sort of ruining this for me!" he shouts at me over the music, getting almost annoyed. I blink. This was unexpected; he's not hitting on me. He doesn't smell like he usually does, in the sense that he doesn't smell like a cigarette. I can't figure out what it is though. I study his profile for a second, trying to figure him out.  
  
"Your not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke." I note.  
  
"Yeah I quit, apparently they're bad for you." He replies. Well no shit Sherlock.  
  
"You think?" I reply sarcastically. He doesn't reply, just sort of rolls his eyes, like he's choosing to ignore my comment. I can't stop staring at him. I can't figure him out at all. He's so different to how he usually is.  
  
"You know these guys are Bikini Kill, or the Rain Coats, but they're not bad." He says, getting up from his seat. I get a whiff of his scent and it's not too bad itself. He smells like wood and a slight hint of cologne. Nice touch. Wait, did he just say The Rain Coats? Patrick Verona (who would have thought that he would have such a deceivingly romantic name?) the random skid knows who The Rain Coats are. Not bloody likely. He walks off and I follow him astounded and intrigued against my will.  
  
"You know who The Rain Coats are." I say dubiously. He's looking away from me, over somewhere in the distance, beer in hand. I try not to notice how high quality his ass looks in those pants.  
  
"Why, don't you?" he asks. Of course I know who The Rain Coats are! He confuses me, and I don't like it. I can't think of anything to say to him, for some strange reason that I detest greatly, I can't bring myself to be mean to him right now. "I was watching you out there, I've never seen you look to sexy!" he cries over the music. This catches me by surprise. He was watching me? He thinks I'm sexy? I have more pressing matters at hand because of course with my luck the song ends just as he says that word, and everyone in a five foot radius hears, turns and starts giggling. He looks at them in almost embarrassment, I can't tell. I want to be embarrassed as I look around at the people staring at Patrick and me but I can't. Instead I burst out laughing, surprising him as well as myself. I should be mad but I'm not. He laughs as well, his eyes sparkling. He has this wide, mischievous, pickerel grin that is contagious. We stand there staring at each other, and I like him a little. He's not too bad I guess. But he's staring at me and it's a little unnerving. "Come to Bogey's party with me." He says suddenly. He's not telling me, he's not imposing himself upon me. He's simply asking.again I shake my head at him, wondering how I had ever thought any differently.  
  
"You never give up do you?" I ask. I'll don't want to admit it but I'm finding his persistence flattering, and admirable. The music starts back up and he turns and looks toward the stage in annoyance. He has to yell again, the moment is shattered.  
  
"Was that a yes?" he asked turning back to face me. I think for a while. Saying yes would mean admitting defeat.  
  
"No." I reply and then turn and walk away.  
  
"Well then was that a no?" he calls after me. I smile at this; he really doesn't care how low he goes does he? His persistence deserves some hope, even if it's Bogus.  
  
"No." I reply with a laugh. He says something but I can't hear him and honestly I really don't care. I'm back to the music. A nuclear explosion could take off my leg and I wouldn't notice. 


End file.
